AChanceEncounter
by sbyamibakura
Summary: Sherlock, sometime during Series 2, pre Reichenbach Falls. Doctor Who, sometime end of Series 6, during series 7. "Would you two be quiet? How am I supposed to test the elasticity with this striped bass with you two carrying on like that?"


A Chance Encounter

By: PhoenixJustice

Disclaimer: Sherlock is property of Arthur Conan Doyle, Mark Gatiss, Steven Moffat, the BBC and people who, sadly, aren't me. I only own this story and make no profit from this. Doctor Who is property of the BBC and people who aren't me. (As much as I'd love to own either.)

Warning: Rated K+.

Characters: Sherlock Holmes, John Watson, Rory Williams.

Setting: Sherlock, sometime during Series 2, pre Reichenbach Falls. Doctor Who, sometime end of Series 6, during series 7.

Summary: "Would you two be _quiet_? How am I supposed to test the elaciticity with this striped bass with you two carrying on like that?"

Part 0 of the Day of Judgment series.

"Sherlock, should we be...snooping around like this? Maybe we should wait for someone. Molly goes on shift in a few hours, I think-"

"Nonsense, John. The body is right down the hall and there is no time like the present. It can't wait for Molly in a few hours; not for the proof I'm seeking..."

John knew Sherlock well enough by now that he would do what he want, regardless of what others thought, so it was really just a token protest he put up. Anyway, for as much as Sherlock said he detested his brother Mycroft, said brother had pulled his little brother out of some tight spots more than once. John may not have entirely understood the older Holmes, but he knew without a doubt that the man held much more power than the "small position" he claimed to have.

Sherlock pushes through the doors leading to the morgue area of St. Barts, seemingly unconcerned about going through the restricted area. But John wouldn't go so far as to say that Sherlock wasn't paying attention. If there was one thing that Sherlock Holmes was good at, was paying attention. Well...mostly. When it came to some matters, Sherlock could tell what someone was up to hours ago, what they ate and who they had shagged. But when it came to matters of _people_, that is to say _feelings_, he didn't seem to understand much.

A self admitted "high functioning sociopath", Sherlock was unaware or uninterested in most of the things people put high priority on. He didn't understand why a woman might dig her nails in her dying moments and try and carve out her dead daughter's name but John would highly disagree with those, once himself included, who accused Sherlock of feeling nothing, of being a machine.

He knew that wasn't true; he had lived with the man for months now. They did cases together, spent time together in the flat, all of that. He knew Sherlock was _unfamiliar _with many emotions and actions that people took for granted, but that didn't mean that he _couldn't _feel them. He just knew it. Deep in his gut. He just knew. He believed in his friend.

They just reach the door where the bodies are kept, when a voice down the hall catches their attention.

"Hey! You lot!"

A slim man in nurse's scrubs comes jogging down to where they were standing. Sherlock lets out a huff of irritation and opens the door anyway, quickly moving inside.

"Sherlock!" He rolls his eyes in exasperation and turns back to where the young man stood. He looked a tad annoyed, but strangely...something. "I'm sorry. He-well we're working on a case and, well okay more him than me I suppose but all the same. He gets an idea in that genius head of his and just takes off."

"Sounds like someone I know." said the young man, almost muttering it. He looks at John for a minute, seemingly assessing him, before letting out a small sigh and opens the door. "Come in, I suppose." They both head inside, where a small smacking sound could be heard. "You said you were working on a case?"

"Yes," John says, relieved that the man (male nurse? Not rare, but a bit more uncommon than female nurses. Must be a part timer) didn't immediately call security or the cops on them. He had been in jail before (because of Sherlock) and was not looking forward to repeating that again so soon (though, knowing Sherlock, he knew it was a matter of time before it happened again.) "For D.I Lestrade of Scotland Yard. I can call him if-"

"Nah, it's okay." said the young man. "I think you look trustworthy enough. I mean how many people would sneak into the morgue for the fun of it? And anyway-"

They both pause as they enter one of the rooms in the back, where Sherlock Holmes, the world's best (only) consulting detective, was slapping a dead man's thighs with a large bass. (Where on Earth had he hidden that?) John felt like he should probably say something, try and explain (as if _he _knew what was going on!) but as he turns to look at the nurse, he sees the man looking at the scene in amusement, smiling in an almost familiar amused exasperation.

"It's alright, mate. I know how you feel. How _it _feels," said the young man, looking now at John. "to be led around by a certifiably crazy genius of a man. It's-"

"-exilerating." finished John.

"Yes."

"I'm John, by the way. John Watson."

"I'm Rory. Rory Williams. Just started a few shifts over he-"

"Would you two be _quiet_? How am I supposed to test the elaciticity with this striped bass with you two carrying on like that?"

Rory puts a friendly hand on John's shoulder. "Word of advice; it never ends with them. One day you'll be anticipating your wedding day, and what seems like the next day you watch your new super smart friend marry your daughter."

John starts to open his mouth and say something about how Rory didn't look _nowhere _near old enough to have a daughter of marrying age, but he stops when he sees Sherlock pulling out the salmon.


End file.
